


To lay their Names to Rest

by amarihya



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Battle of Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 00:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17172134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarihya/pseuds/amarihya
Summary: None of them deserved to die- and yet they did.





	To lay their Names to Rest

## To lay their Names to Rest

_“How our bodies, born to heal,  
Become so prone to die?”_

_\- Mars, by Sleeping at Last_

She always looked flawless. It was not so much her apparent display of magic or her power. Or the way the looked at him with her chocolate brown eyes- and he loved that about her most- but no, it was so much more than that. Even with her hair like a mess and her face beaten up, she still was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Maybe it was just because she would also be the last woman he ever sees. Really, he cannot even remember the face of any other witch in his final moments. Nobody wields a wand like she does, and nobody looks as flawless doing so. Also, nobody looks as dead as she does, when the curse finally hits her.

* * *

When he stormed out of his home that fateful night he had this weird feeling in his gut that it might be the last time he had seen it. Still, he did not look back. There was not much to look back to anyway. A mere house carrying a title it never deserved. There were far more important matters requiring his attention: his godson needed his help and he was _so_ eager to help. There was not a chance in the world that he would deny him his assistance. Sitting at home, alone and standing still- sometimes it seemed nearly as sentencing as being locked up in Azkaban. He wanted to feel alive again. Wanted to feel what it meant to be a human being. Movement, fresh air, change. He never wanted anything more. When he finally died there was so much of all of it, that, for the first time, he truly felt alive again.

* * *

She had always loved the law. It was so clear, and structured and indisputable. It masterfully implemented the grey areas disappeared and its character was rather the of a manual. Detailed, telic and distinct. She would find a hundred words to describe what it meant to her. In the end, either someone was guilty or innocent- no in-between- just a clear verdict. It made things so easy. She understood it with her eyes closed and it was always something she adored about her work: the simplicity of it all. She was fierce and strong, able to defend it with all she had. She never wavered or faltered in the face of challenge and injustice. But even though, having the law on one’s side did invigorate her bravery, in the end it was not quite enough when he used this fatal curse. Because even though his curse was unforgivable and thereby automatically against the law she still died. And there was no prosecution, no judgment that day. He might have broken this holy law she worshipped so fiercely but, in the end, it did not change anything. The law itself did not care that she was killed- no matter the crime he had committed.

* * *

All her heart was not enough to love him- it never would be. She loved his little fingers, his smacking of lips after he had eaten. She loved how he tried to grip her hand, tight, and how he looked up at her with his deep brown eyes having all his life before him. She loved how he smiled at her when she carried him in her arms and she even loved when he cried at night, wanting to be near her, crawling into bed next to her when he had had another bad dream. She loved how he clutched his little hands around hers just to hold them. She loved his smell, his voice, his soul. She loved him still, after they had come to punish her. She loved him still when she salvaged his little body in her arms, apparating to St. Mungos, hoping so _desperately_ , that there was no clear thought made that night. She loved him still when he closed his eyes, one final time. And she still loved him after that.

* * *

Strawberry was his favourite. It was a classic. He liked butterbeer also, and peach. But strawberry was sovereign. It tasted like summer. He still knew what happened in summer. No matter what summer. He always had a sweet tooth for history as well. He concluded, when he was captured, that being a prisoner of war did significantly differ nowadays from a few hundred years ago. Depending on the time setting he could have been skinned, burned, disjointed or more. Being tortured with the Cruciatus was not comfortable and yes, it hurt. But it did not surprise him. He just wished he could have tasted his favourite ice cream once more before he tasted blood in his mouth. Because blood did not taste like strawberry at all.

* * *

Some evening he just stood there, up no the astronomy tower, looking down on the lands belonging to Hogwarts. He had stood up there the first night he had been appointed headmaster. It just seemed right to end it there as well. He loved that view. The forest, the lake, the towers of the castle. It was as if he the land itself was intertwined with him, as if the lake’s current was linked to his blood; as if the rustling trees were echoing his beating heart. He was, indeed, the only one who had seen it coming, though he was not the only one wishing for it. Some night he had imagined falling- he had even dreamt of it- but when he finally fell and when he was finally struck down- quite literally- the rustling of the trees did not stop contrary to the beating of his heart.

* * *

He had a master no more. Now, it was just him and he had real friends for the first time in forever. The body who lived was his friend. He was his favourite friend. He had kept the sock he had given to him and never thought that he could repay him in any way, though not for lack of trying. He would have done anything for him. For years he had dreamed of having friends and caring for them without any restrictions. Even though his masters had never been friendly to him he still had witnessed the bonds of love and loyalty and friendship. So, naturally, when he finally had a friend, a _real_ friend, he did just that. He cared beyond limitations and reason. He did give him everything, even his life in the end, but he still did not feel like it was enough.

* * *

With him on his side there was nothing he was not able to do. They were thinking as one unity, moving in all naturalness like they were born to do. He instinctively reacted whenever the other made a move, adjusting his position automatically. Even when fighting he could still feel the humour pouring out of him, creating his persona with every fibre, streaming through his veins like humour itself could be blood. Like laughs would motivate the beating of his heart. Maybe that is why it eventually stopped beating. Because nobody laughed when he finally died.

* * *

Her hair was pink when she died, but other than that she looked exactly like she had all her life. The looked exactly as she chose to look. The same nose, hair, mouth, face. She was so gifted, deflecting curses like there was nothing else to do. It came natural to her, effortless. Her cheeks were pink from toil, nearly matching her hair colour. When she died, and fell, however, she did not match her hair anymore. There was too much red blood to ever suit her hair again.

* * *

His spirit was not broken. His body may have been tainted and his soul injured but he knew exactly what he was fighting for. He was fighting for his son, his new born, with all he had and with all what was left of his spirit after years of exhaustion. He was fighting for a better life, to justice and determination and love. He was fighting for children who never had a chance of a normal childhood. He fought for himself and beyond all else, he fought because it was the right thing to do. But he was depleted and tired. Oh Merlin, he was so tired that eventually he went to sleep forever.

* * *

If he could have taken a picture of the battle nothing would have portrayed it better than the desolation and destruction that was left after the fight. Hogwarts, standing still and mighty, towering above all of them, the dead and living alike. Demolished and dusty and maculated by blood. It would have been the perfect picture, shot as the sun fell through the holes of the walls, the windows, upon the messed-up ground. Dust particles glimmering in the air like diamonds. It would have been _perfect._ What a pity that he would never take another picture ever again.

* * *

She loved divination. Trying to see what the future would hold and what possibilities it had in store for her- it had always fascinated her. There was no clear structure to it, rather it depended on feeling, on emotion, on instinct. She tried her best and, in the tealeaves, she had read that fighting was the only option they had if they did not want to lose their lives altogether. So, naturally, she went for it, with all she had and all her conviction. She had not foreseen, however, that she would die trying. It took her by surprise.

* * *

He died alone. It should not have been a surprise for him, though, as he had lived his life just the same. It was ironic, really, that he finally died where he was nearly killed so many years ago when he had been just a boy. Then, again: had he ever really been _just a boy?_ He could not remember a life where he loved going to sleep or waking up. He could not remember anything besides the burden he had carried on his shoulders for so many years. Life really was gruesome, sometimes. He had always imagined he would see _her_ again when Death crept up on him, stretching its long, black claws towards his soul, ripping it apart. But even though her beautiful green eyes were the last thing he saw before closing his, they were not the last thing he saw when the reaper finally gripped his damaged self. There was not one speck of green as life poured out of him. He had always imagined it to be different. So different.

* * *

 

 _"We promised we'd be safe,_  
_Another lie from the front lines."_

_\- Mars, by Sleeping at Last_

 


End file.
